Broken
by Fuwakateema
Summary: Love spoke of my past as a valuable test. (CJ/Leo)


Title: Broken (1/1)  
  
Author: Jess (fauquita@hotmail.com)  
  
Summary: Love spoke of my past as a valuable test.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters : ABS : : Jack Squat : me  
  
Thanks: Sid, who knows what it's like to live under the tyranny of timed phone calls. Also, yeah, Dar Williams? Rocks.  
  
  
  
There are times he says her name and she can imagine his fingers tracing random patterns along her naked back. There are times he says her name and she realizes that he will never love her as she does him. There are times he says her name and her palms burn to strike him for sounding so condescending. There are times he spits her name like a curse and she thinks this will be the night he ends things.  
  
But he never does, and she goes on pretending that what they have is real because she doesn't believe she would sacrifice a year for something that was anything but. It doesn't matter that he is still in love with his ex-wife, or that he has never allowed himself to fall asleep in her embrace. When he touches her, he is everything.  
  
He is afraid of her eyes, and her hands, and the hollow dip at the base of her throat. He is entranced by the sway of her hips and the whiteness of her teeth. He thinks that one day he won't show up, and she will come looking for him. And he realizes just how much he wants to be found.  
  
He is worried that she won't open her door, and he will be lost. He has never had a way with women, but the swell of her breasts makes him wish that he did. She is soft and pliant, and so alive under his hands. And there are times he hates himself for needing her so much.  
  
She is more intelligent than this, she thinks, as he closes the bathroom door behind him to shower. He will make excuses about work, or a cat that doesn't exist back at his place, and he will leave without kissing her goodbye. And she will sob into her pillow because she has never felt as broken as she does when he is gone.  
  
  
  
There is something almost hypnotizing in watching herself over and over again on tape. She isn't listening to words like 'Haiti' or 'relieved'. She is focusing instead on the movements of her mouth, on the panic in her eyes readable only to herself. And she thinks this is what it feels like to be finished.  
  
And it doesn't hurt as much as she thought. She is numb from shock and exhaustion and maybe, just maybe, the scotch. Her head swims with possibilities and explanations, and she thinks of calling him, but decides that she can only handle one heartbreak a day.  
  
She remembers his eyes and voice, both seething with anger, as he told her of the decision to bench her for the rest of the Haiti briefings. She argued weakly, and was dismissed almost immediately. There would be no second chance for her, no room to fix her mistake. Not with her career, and certainly not with Leo.  
  
And so she sits on her bedroom floor drowning herself in alcohol and self-pity and wondering just when she became a victim. Was it last May, or long before that? She doesn't know and it disturbs her because she used to be in control. One more thing this job has stolen from her. She listens to the gentle sound of rain against the window and remembers when she used to find it oddly comforting. Now it is a distraction, and she throws her glass against the wall, watching as it shatters into tiny pieces, because she thinks there must be something better, somewhere.  
  
He has been watching her from the doorway for ten minutes now, and wonders how such a range of emotion can pass over her face in so short a time. She is incredible, he realizes, and wonders why he has never told her. He's never said the words 'I love you', but he thinks that if the chance came by, he would. And then he is frightened when she begins sobbing into her hand and he backs away from her room, disappearing into the night because this is something he can't handle.  
  
And she is left with an emptiness she can't explain, never even knowing that he was there.  
  
  
  
She has learned to live without him, she thinks. She believes this because she can look at him in staff without remembering the gentle tug of his teeth on her bottom lip, or the caress of his fingers against her cheek, or his breath, damp against her ear. It doesn't matter that she sleeps on the couch now because the bed suddenly seems too big for her.   
  
Seven months have passed, and sometimes she thinks it is odd that things ended between them without there ever having been a declaration. He simply stopped coming by, and she never asked why. They don't talk outside of office matters, not even in the company of their co-workers at state functions. He is scared of what she will say, and she is scared of what he won't.  
  
He observes her sometimes, shifting in her chair, crossing her legs, or tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and is filled with an intense longing that rivals anything he ever felt for aged whiskey. But the moment passes, and the fire left behind in his chest is enough to sustain him through long days, and even longer nights.  
  
The world has shifted, and suddenly he is the one seeking forgiveness like an unruly child. He thinks of the Censure, and the President's words, and that night not so long ago in his hotel room with alcohol from the mini-bar. His throat burns like a phantom swallow of Johnny Walker, and he knows he has fucked up. And when she stands in his doorway, he doesn't bother shielding his face from her.  
  
He has never looked more lost to her, never seemed so vulnerable and defenseless, and if she were a vindictive woman, she might walk away. But she still loves him, and so she closes the door behind her instead. He buries his face in her stomach and moans softly when she runs her fingers through his thinning hair.   
  
"It'll be ok, Leo, whatever it is," she soothes.  
  
"You only think so because you don't know any better," he counters, his words muffled against her blouse.  
  
She drops her hands flatly to his shoulder, and tries to push him away because his condescension is insulting, and she is stronger than she was a year ago. She lets out an odd grunt once she realizes he won't release her and tugs his hair violently. But this only causes him to tighten his grip, and she stops struggling when the first sob emerges.  
  
She falls to her knees and covers his mouth with hers, swallowing his cries. He bites her lip so hard, he draws blood and the metallic taste covers their tongues. But their passion is unrestrained, and even when her head bangs painfully against the side of his desk, she urges him further with her hands, and words.   
  
She would like to believe this is love, but his eyes are almost unseeing, and she could be anybody to him. He needs her for release, for human comfort, for anything but a relationship, and she doesn't mind tonight because she knows he is desperate, and hurting. She would give anything to spare him, and so maybe she's not as strong as she thought.  
  
Later, he turns his back to her as she pulls her clothes on and is only vaguely aware of her exiting his office. He feels dirty, and ashamed, and he frowns at the smell of sex, and perfume in the air. His movements are mechanical as he gathers his briefcase and coat.   
  
He hates the way his body reacts to her presence, hates the way her scent is indelibly burned into his memory, hates the hurt in her eyes he placed there, hates that he is standing outside of her apartment building at three in the morning.  
  
  
  
"I deserve more," is what she says when she opens the door.   
  
"I love you," is how he answers, his voice breaking slightly.  
  
She shakes her head as she steps aside to allow him entry. "Don't."  
  
He looks to the couch where sheets and pillows are tangled together in a lump. She hasn't taken down her Christmas tree yet even though it's the middle of January, and it blinks intermittently with rainbow bulbs. He wants to weep at the sight because he never remembers the important things, thinks he could if given the chance. Thinks he could make her happy if he really tried.   
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She smiles slightly. "Ok."  
  
"I just-"  
  
"I know about Jordan, I know about the flowers and the expensive dinners. If you think you can just waltz back in here because I fucked you in the office, then-"  
  
"CJ!" he interrupts in astonishment.   
  
"I'm through being that woman, Leo. For a year I put up with your shit, with your casualness, with your lies because I thought there was a chance I could make you love me. I'm not doing it anymore."  
  
"But I do love you," he implores.  
  
"Tonight you love me. But tomorrow? Or the next day, or the one after that? When I make a mistake, or disagree with you? You just won't come by, and then we'll go another few months without speaking. I can't handle it again."  
  
"Why didn't you ever come to me? Why didn't you ask-"  
  
"I shouldn't have to! You're so goddamned controlling. You came by when you wanted to, left when you wanted to, never asked what I was thinking or feeling."  
  
"So this is my fault?"  
  
"I was so afraid of losing you," she continues as if she hasn't heard his question. "I gave up control for you, I gave up dates, and flowers, and birthdays. And it was never enough, and I don't have anything else to give."  
  
The stark honesty of her words shatters something inside of her, and she sits heavily on the couch. She keeps her eyes trained on her own image behind the podium and waves her hand dismissively. "Look, we're both to blame. Let's leave it at that."  
  
He finds it hard to swallow because he never imagined he had the ability to wound her so deeply. He loosens his tie and clears his throat. "I'm your boss."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We can't be seen in public together, CJ. Especially now."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But I love you," he reiterates. "I want-"  
  
"Call me again in a few years, Leo, because I'm not going to be your dirty secret for the rest of the administration."  
  
He opens his mouth to argue, to plead, to promise, but the truth hits him like a strong wind and he knows she is right. He bends down and places a chaste kiss against her cheek. And he remembers the first time he did this, when he went to her office to celebrate Josh's recovery. Only that time, she had turned her cheek at the last moment and they found themselves releasing their fears and gratitude in a single searing kiss that led to so much more on her couch.  
  
"Take care of yourself," he whispers huskily.  
  
She nods absently and locks the door after him, ignoring the small voice in her head that begs her to call him back. Instead, she gathers her pillows, and the comforter, and slips into her bed for the first time in months. She feels like she has reclaimed a little part of herself and falls asleep with a smile.   
  
  
  
The end 


End file.
